


Midnight Ramblings

by DemonicPresence



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ASL, American Sign Language, Angel Wings, Caretaking, Deaf Dean, Demons, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-21 05:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicPresence/pseuds/DemonicPresence
Summary: A small, growing collection of fics I write for @driver_picks_the_music_1967 at like midnight because she couldn't sleep and it needs to exist somewhere outside of text messages





	1. Broken Wings and Mended Hearts

You know that stupid old pickup line? "Did it hurt, when you fell from heaven?"

For Cas, it did. Really did.

Having your wings snapped is no pleasant thing. Your grace ripped from you and being cast out of Heaven, the only place - the only home - you've ever known, even less so. For weeks after, Cas was a wreck. Didn't leave his room, barely ate, didn't sleep. Dean had trouble trying to get him to do something, say something, anything. He was at a loss.

He didn't know what to do. What to say. How to help. And it was killing Dean inside.

He tried everything. Bringing him food, taking him out on minor hunts, reading to him, drives in the Impala, anything he could think of. Nothing worked. Nothing helped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean left on a hunting trip. Sam had to stay and help a hunter who was Deaf the next town over. Cas had stayed behind, staring at the wall. 

Though he didn't want to admit it to himself, the only brief respite from his fucked up headspace was Dean's texts, every hour, telling him he was alive and okay that he'd be back soon. A part of his mind tugged at his heart, whispering things:

After you fell, he still cares.

He still wants to be near you.

He still cares about you, broken wings and all. He cares about you.

And for a while, these thoughts comforted him. Until the hour mark passed, and there was no text.

The hour became two. Two became three. Four. Twelve. Cas was in a panic now. Where was he? Where was Dean?

He couldn't do it. He had lost everything but Dean. He couldn't lose him too. He traveled to the town Dean had said he was going to and searched. And searched and searched.

He found three things: the Impala; windows smashed, front dented, car door ajar as if something had ripped the occupant from it. Dean's cell phone on the grass a few metres away. And a trail of blood.

He had little choice, didn't he?

His mind screaming at the possibilities, his stomach threatening to lose what meager contents it had, and more fluids besides. He paused to grab Dean's favorite gun full of demon-killing bullets and followed the dark trail.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It led him to a shack. It looked abandoned, but the sounds heard contradicted its appearance. Grunting, and the sounds of fists hitting something solid, yet fleshy. Cas swallowed, his face set in a grim line, and creeped to the window. A stench hit his nostrils, a scent he'd recognize anywhere--

Demons.

They were killing him. Beating him. Snarling, laughing, spitting on him. Dean was hanging there, by his arms suspended in the air, blood dripping from several wounds. To make matters worse, the sounds of a hellhound snarled from a corner, clawmarks scouring the wood. Dean flinched with every snarl and bray that left the creature, unseen to his and Cas' eyes.

Cas' eyes flared. How dare they. How dare they touch him. How dare they maim what he fell from heaven for?

How dare they try to take what was his, what he couldn't let leave his life. The one thing he could not lose.

Cas stood, and shot through the window. The bullet sliced through the glass, the arm of a demon brandishing a knife at Dean, and embedded into the invisible figure in the corner. By luck, grace, whatever you called it, the hound fell still, silenced.

The demons turned, their eyes darkening to pure black, as another bullet pierced the skull of one of the three. He went down as the last two advanced on Cas. He hit one in the jaw with the gun that sent the woman staggering, and unloaded two more into the chest of the third. Before he could finish the last, a stream of black smoke erupted from her throat and the demon ran.

Cas turned to Dean. He hung there, limp, barely breathing. The gun clattered to the floor as Cas rushed to him, untying him and laying him gently on the ground, his head cradled in Cas' lap.

"Dean..." Cas croaked, "Dean, I'm here. I'm right here. Please, don't leave me. You can't leave me, please."

Begging felt wrong. He, the stoic, silent one, the one who did not understand human emotion, understood that he didn't care about what felt "wrong." What he understood, was that he could not lose Dean.

Dean's face twitched. His breathing shuddered and his eyes cracked open. "C... Cas? What... are you...? Am I dreaming?" he muttered, trying to force his eyes open wider.

Cas managed a small chuckle. "What makes you think this is a dream?" he asked, to which Dean managed to pull out a tiny grin.

"Seeing your eyes, for one. I missed those," he croaked hoarsely, wincing as he tried to sit up, "What happened? The demons, where--?"

"Gone." Cas ground out, his eyes hardening.

"Was... that your doing?" Dean said, seeing his gun on the ground."

"Would you think less of me if it was?" Cas asked him. Dean chuckled. bringing his hand up to rest on Cas' leg.

"I would think it makes me one lucky bastard," he grinned, groaning as Cas helped him sit up.

"I wasn't going to let them take you away from... from me," Cas muttered, glancing away. His eyes flew back to Dean in shock as he felt Dean's lips against his cheek.

"Thank you, Cas. Seriously. Thank you," Dean whispered, smiling against Cas' face.

Cas would never admit it, but he melted a bit inside hearing Dean's voice, so full of affection and warmth, warmth that he showed to Cas only. Something in his heart stirred a bit, and he thought maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.


	2. Learning for Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small, growing collection of fics I write for @driver_picks_the_music_1967 at like midnight because she couldn't sleep and it needs to exist somewhere outside of text messages

You know how they say to watch for high fevers in infants and young children, and to prevent and treat them at all costs?

Unfortunately, Dean’s parents couldn’t get the 3-year-old’s fever treated fast enough, and as a result, the young Winchester became profoundly Deaf.

Fortunately, John and Mary were one of the few sets of hearing parents that strived to accommodate their son, rather than “fix” him. Even after Mary’s death, Dean and his brother continued to learn ASL, and Dean still took up the mantle of the Hunter. It was difficult, and not without its challenges. Monsters sometimes got the better of him, but he made up for it with his reflexes, his eyesight, and, of course, Sam.

Things got interesting when Castiel came into the picture.

Dean had found a small community of Deaf hunters that helped him out. They, along with Sam and Bobby, had become a surrogate family to him. Even Deaf, the ladies still wanted him, so those were some fun times. But meeting Cas, their adventures together, changed a few things for him.

Cas was at a loss. He had offered to heal Dean of his deafness the first time they met, to which Dean had politely but firmly refused. When questioned why, Sam had interpreted for Dean, telling Cas that being Deaf was as much a part of him as being a Hunter was. It helped make him who he was, and he wouldn’t give that up. Therefore, every time Cas healed Dean, every time he saved him from death, he was very careful not to fix Dean’s hearing. Though it confused him, he came to accept it.

It was coming to a point, years later, where Cas came upon the realization that he liked Dean – he had dragged him from Hell, fallen from Heaven for him, survived Purgatory with him (though without Sam that had been a bit more difficult, but they lived), been on more adventures than he could count with the brothers, learned to be a Hunter with them – and yet he had never actually communicated with Dean. Not in his language, anyway. He had texted him, or used Sam (who had taken interpreting and ASL classes in college to better help his brother), and even written notes back and forth with him. But he found himself wanting more.

He walked into the kitchen in the bunker, where Dean was busy making himself a sandwich. Dean was dressed in his usual attire of a white t-shirt, plaid shirt, jeans, and boots. He hadn’t noticed Cas yet, who was fidgeting by the door, watching him.

Finally, he worked up the nerve and padded over to Dean, his trench coat moving slightly with his steps. Normally, Dean’s sharp eyes with an even finer-tuned sense of peripheral vision would have caught the movement of Cas in his trench coat and tie almost instantly, his eyes heightened by his deafness and his hunting senses through the years. But, thoroughly focused on his sandwich and in the relative safety of the bunker, he didn’t notice. Cas had also learned that Dean was rather badly startled with Cas just appearing behind him, unable to hear the soft flutter of wings that marked Cas’ arrival – an incident that nearly got him shot on a few occasions. Not that it would have hurt, but he knew Dean would feel badly for doing so.

Cas tapped him gently on the shoulder to get his attention, as he had seen Sam do. Dean’s green eyes met his and a friendly warmth entered them, a smile breaking out on his face. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small notebook he kept there, flipping it open and scribbling a message there before setting it on the counter before Cas.

“Hey Cas. What’s up?”

Cas reached down and took the pen, writing sloppily under Dean’s message.

“Hey Dean. I have a favor to ask of you.”

Dean wrote a response instantly, his brow creasing in a sign of concern, his eyes flashing up to read Cas’ face and body language. 

“What’s the favor? Are you okay?”

Cas drew a breath, unsure of exactly the reason for his nerves, before he wrote, “Could you teach me the language of sign?”

Dean blinked as he read the message and his eyes shot up again to read Cas’ face before a slow grin broke out, the worry fading and amusement taking its place. He wrote out, “Sign language. You mean sign language, ASL. Seriously? You want to learn?” At this, Cas nodded. “Why?”

Cas’ hand shook ever so slightly as he wrote back, “I want to talk to you.”

At this, Dean chuckled softly, his smile growing wider. He nodded and wrote out, “Sure, we can start right now.”

Cas’ eyes lit up and he wrote quickly, his words messy due to an unusual display of excitement, “Where do we begin?”

Dean chuckled again before writing, “Here is fine, we don’t have to go somewhere else to learn.” 

Cas started at Dean in confusion for a minute before it clicked and he let out a breathy, nervous laugh. “Oh,” he said aloud, unthinking. Dean laughed in response, understanding without needing it written. “What I meant was,” Cas wrote, leaning over the pad again, “What do I start learning first?”

“Your name is usually a good thing to know,” Dean wrote back, his eyes laughing. Slowly, Dean taught him how to fingerspell his name, C-A-S-T-I-E-L, along with the words MY and NAME. Cas was thrilled, practicing with clumsy movements until his hands became accustomed to the handshapes of the letters. He smiled hugely at Dean, who’s answering smile was just as broad.

And so it went. As the weeks passed, Cas’ skills and confidence grew, though his expressions, or rather lack thereof, earned him some gentle teasing from the brothers and a few of their Deaf hunter friends about him being a boring signer. But he worked at it, constantly, and he improved. For two years he worked at it, practicing and practicing, Dean a patient and teasing teacher, even being the one to give Cas his very own name sign, the sign for ANGEL but with Cs, and Cas was secretly so happy that it was Dean who gave it to him.

_“My ASL skill, you think what?”_ Cas signed to Dean one night, his eyebrows raised with the topic and question. They were reclining on the hood of the Impala, stargazing. The light from the moon gave them enough light to see each other in the countryside, Cas constantly being conscious of giving Dean the best signing advantage.

_“I impressed,”_ Dean responded, his smile and sincerity instantly apparent in his body and his eyes, _“You improve a lot.”_ As this was signed, Dean’s cheeks ballooned out as his hand moved up his arm in the sign for IMPROVE, showing how much emphasis he put on the word.

At this, Cas’ smile was breathtaking. Though his look of seemingly eternal confusion lingered on his face from time to time, Sign Language had taught him to be much more expressive.

_“Thank you,”_ he signed, and he hugged Dean. Dean’s arms wrapped around Cas in the warmest hug he had ever been given, and he never wanted it to end. Pulling away from Dean when he let go, his throat grew dry at the thought of what he wanted to say, wanted to do.

Dean saw the look that crossed his face, and he signed to him, _“What-wrong?”,_ his eyebrows furrowing in worry. Cas gulped a couple times, Sam’s voice in his memory as he remembered what he was told about the Deaf being blunt and direct with their observations and questions and feelings.

_“You, I-like,”_ Cas signed quickly, his eyes sliding away from Dean’s face, rudeness be damned he was so nervous, _“Really like.”_ His forefinger jerked from his mouth sharply in emphasis on the sign for REALLY. Dean’s fingers brought Cas’ chin up so he could read Cas’ face in the way he had countless times he had before, his eyes searching and wanting to hear Cas.

_“That mean what?”_ Dean signed, even though he knew what Cas meant, the message clear the angel’s face and eyes even if the signs were a bit off. He wanted Cas to sign it again, directly.

Cas took a deep breath, his nerves showing. _“Date-you, I-want,”_ he signed, his hands shaking a bit. Dean’s responding smile was breathtaking – it certainly knocked the wind out of Cas. Leaning forward, he smashed his lips to Cas’, who’s eyes widened in shock and his heart shuddered in happiness, a movement Dean could feel beneath his fingertips.

Pulling away just enough so Cas could see his hands, Dean smiled back and signed to him, _“Waiting for you tell-me,”_ before kissing him again.


	3. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small, growing collection of fics I write for @driver_picks_the_music_1967 at like midnight because she couldn't sleep and it needs to exist somewhere outside of text messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An old favorite, I loved writing this and she loves reading it

Dean shot up in bed, gasping for air, sweat beading his temples as he tried to shake the remnants of his nightmare. His fingers curled in the sheets as the voices echoed in his head: 

_"You let Sammy die, Dean. You let me down,"_ His father's.

 _"Dean, you were supposed to protect me,"_ Sam. 

_"You are dead to me,"_ Cas. On and on they went, more of them; Crowley, Lucifer, Meg, and many others echoing in his mind, taunting him, preying on the fears and insecurities he let nobody else see. They hounded him, the voices screaming in his head until a quiet knock on the door interrupted them. 

"Dean?" It was Cas. The door creaked open and the angel's gaze fell on him. 

"C-Cas." Dean stuttered, rubbing his face and taking a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

"Is everything alright? You seem distressed." Cas asked softly, entering the room and sitting on the bed next to Dean's legs.

"Yeah... just a nightmare." Dean said, the words coming out tasting like acid. As if admitting it was somehow wrong - but he felt like Cas wouldn't judge him for it. 

"Would you like to talk about it?" Cas inquired, and green eyes met blue as Dean contemplated doing something very new to him: opening up to someone. A pause entered the air as Dean teetered on the edge of whether or not to speak. But a small voice inside him urged him to talk to Cas.

Screw it, he thought, and his mouth opened.

And so out it came. Everything. His fears, his insecurities, his feelings. How he feels like he has to be the one to protect others, mainly Sammy, how he's terrified of failing, of Sammy dying... of losing Cas. Cas sat through it all, patiently, occasionally rubbing Dean's knee with his hand to offer some kind of comfort. As Dean finished speaking, his chest heaving and his eyes downcast, silence overtook the room as he waited for Cas to say something, anything. But no words came.

Cas got up and walked out of the room. Dean blinked in confusion, tears welling up, and he tried to fight them, but before they could fall, Cas walked back in. 

Dean became very aware of two things. One, Cas was now in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt. Two, he was holding a plate with a healthy serving of cherry pie in his hands. Dean managed to bark out a laugh, wiping his hands over his eyes as Cas pulled up the covers and sat down on the bed next to him, pulling Dean into the crook of his arm as he placed the plate in his hands. 

"I know I am not very good with words... But you are very strong, Dean. You are not the weak person you believe yourself to be. It takes someone strong to admit their fears and worries to someone. You are not alone. And you are not going to lose any of us. You will not lose me," Cas murmured before leaning down and kissing him on his cheek. Dean Winchester actually managed to blush before quietly tucking into his pie. A soft sensation spread across his back and he glanced to his side to see a dark wing enveloping him in a warm embrace. Dean grinned and cuddled into Cas, allowing himself, for once, to be the one being taken care of, even if only in this small way.


End file.
